


Snowfall

by ludgerkresnik



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Introspection, M/M, Sad smut, Slow Build, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 09:37:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8440621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ludgerkresnik/pseuds/ludgerkresnik
Summary: The harrowing depression starts somewhere past Christmas and New Years, when the world has gone back to normal.





	

Snow has two moods for Alfred F Jones that fall on two different spectrums. One was romance, with the way lovers hold each other or are out Christmas shopping. The warmth it gives off, and the cheer is contagious.

The other is a deep harrowing depression. It starts somewhere past Christmas and New Years, when the world goes back to it’s normal. The way the cheer is gone, and there’s a few stray Christmas songs on February still but that’s it.

This is where he prefers to hole himself up in a small house in the middle of nowhere, Montana where the mountains loom and he feels free. This is where nothing can bother him, not his politics nor snide remarks the others make when they think he can’t hear them. He’s just Alfred Frederick Jones to that little old couple just a few miles away, not the United States of America. Nothing grand, nothing big.

And he feels freer that way.

The knock on the door surrenders his peace, and he hopes it’s just a lost soul needing directions. _Go any further_ , he wants to say, _and you’ll be at Canada’s borders so turn around_.

When he opens the door, he keeps his hand on the handle, prepared to give directions and not prepared to see Ivan standing there. With a perfectly wrapped box in his hands.

“Hello, America.” Alfred steps aside.

“It’s Alfred out here. What do you want, Russia?” There’s a million and one things Russia can say to Alfred but he doesn’t.

“To give you your gift! It’s no fun being alone.” Ivan would know that one by personal experience.

“Thanks, man, but I didn’t get you anything.” Alfred didn’t think he’d have to. Alfred looks out the door. The snow had picked up. No sense in kicking him out now, since it’s going to storm. Plus, he would have felt rude in doing so, after all, Ivan had been kind enough to get him something. “How’d you even know I was out here?”

“I asked Canada,” Ivan says, simply. “You didn’t show up for the meeting, and while we were all happy, Canada was worried so I decided to come check on you.” _Worried_  as in possibly pestered someone about it, _worried_  as in he probably doesn’t actually care _that_  much if he couldn’t be bothered to come out here. But nobody likes to deal with sad America, nobody likes to deal with America at all.

He just wants to be Alfred. A normal human.

“Are you okay?” Ivan asks, a little later, when the snow had started to fall heavy and it’s pure white. Alfred is somewhere between feeling cozy with the crackling and popping of the fire, and a glass of scotch, but yet, so _aware_  if Ivan being out here. So _aware_  of his other life that he feels uncomfortable.

“Um, just fine. Fine. Do you want anything?”

“No, thank you.” Every movement Alfred makes, every breath, he feels as if Ivan is taking it all in. Making a game out of it. Perhaps he’s just being paranoid, after all, he’s not used to having anyone outside of Canada over. Even France and England aren’t allowed here, they don’t even know where it is. And he wants to keep it that way. “I like you, America.” Ivan says, after another long silence. 

Alfred decides to go to bed. No way Ivan would like him. He pulls out the couch for Ivan to sleep on and heads to bed. Noises from the television fill up the air as wind whistles outside and Alfred rolls over onto his side. He lays like that for awhile, blandly staring at the window, white with snow. He becomes aware of a presence and sits up, staring at Ivan.

“What?”

“You are clearly depressed.” There are no apologies, no complaints. Just a stupid comment, a stupid observation and Alfred scowls. “Please do not be so sad.”

“’m not.” Winter has always been his least favorite season. “I’m trying to sleep.”

“When was the last time you slept?” Ivan asks, as he steps closer to the bed. Alfred doesn’t even know. He takes naps, so surely, those count right? “You have barely eaten.”

“I’m just tired.”

He always says that nowadays. He’s just tired. Not the sleep tired, but just so, so tired. If he could, he’d give up his nation status and live normally. But he can’t, because he can’t just leave the only world he’s ever known. So, he does the next best thing. He mingles with humans, despite how short their lives are _(and he can’t help but envy how they can die)_ , he goes to universities under different names. He falls in love for a sort while. He’s good at playing pretend, so he should make use it of it

There’s a sudden weight on his bed that pulls him out of his thoughts, and he realizes that Ivan has joined him on the bed. Alfred finds no reason to fight this, and he reaches out, lightly touching Ivan. He hasn’t felt much of anything recently, he’s barely let himself socialize.

Outside, the wind whistles violently, hail thudding against the windows. There’s a long, long silence before Alfred moves close to Ivan and kisses him. He isn’t sure if he intended to do that, or if it was just an impulse. After all, he is stupidly impulsive, he acts on his feelings, on his emotions and never rationality. How many times has that gotten him into trouble? How many relationships has he destroyed?

Whatever. He doesn’t care. He could be in worse company, he supposes.

Ivan takes control of the kiss, tongue in Alfred’s mouth, a hand running down Alfred’s chest and stomach. He stops just above the hem of Alfred’s boxers, and breaks their kiss. There’s a momentary pause, eye contact where they both know if they continue, there’s no going back.

This isn’t what’s been bothering Alfred, though it is part of it. For so long, he’s harbored feelings for the other. For so long, he’s dealt with it in silence because he shouldn’t feel this way for him but he _does_  and he’s _conflicted._ They’re both so sickeningly similar. They’re both empty on the inside, empty and powerful and weak all at the same time. They both long for something more than just what’s been handed to them.

There’s no turning back now. And he just doesn’t care.

Alfred pulls Ivan down on top of him, tugging down Ivan’s underwear and grasping at his cock. He gives long, light strokes and pumps. Ivan moans, and shoves his hand down Alfred’s boxers and follows Alfred’s movements. They’re quick, rough and Alfred teases the head of Ivan’s cock. He trails pre-cum along his penis.

It’s Ivan who pulls away before Alfred can cum, and Alfred copies him. Their faces flushed, and Alfred pulls down his own underwear. He reaches towards the nightstand next to his bed, and pulls open a drawer and fishes around until he finds the bottle of lube.

“Here,” he grunts out.

They’ve fucked a few times before, but there was always alcohol involved. They would rather not remember their trysts, their meetings, the way Alfred moans and writhes beneath him. They’re enemies, they hate each other. After all, a hero should never love a villain.

Alfred hisses as two cold, slicked fingers enter him. As Ivan finger fucks Alfred, teasing his prostate, and thrusts his fingers in and out, he grasps at Alfred’s erection and gives a long, slow stroke.

All thoughts are gone as Alfred moans, bucking his hips and groaning. He mewls a little as Ivan removes his fingers, and moves in between Alfred’s spread legs. He hoists Alfred’s legs up on his hips, positioning himself and slowly slides in. Pushing himself all the way in, Ivan stays still, waiting for Alfred to say or do something. Or at least until his breathing evens out.

“Hey,” Alfred finally hisses out. “ _Move_.”

So, Ivan does so, pulling out to the tip and thrusts back in. He isn’t gentle with the other, neither of them really like it slow or soft. Alfred borderlines onto masochist after all.

With each thrust, Ivan strikes Alfred’s prostate and Alfred’s moans grow more and more louder each time. Alfred moves his hips in time with Ivan’s hard thrusts, and he grabs his cock, stroking and pumping it.

Alfred lets out a low groan as he cums in spurts, over his hand and torso. He tries his best now, to keep up with the other, a little too tired to care if Ivan got off. He lets out a series of moans, unable to help himself as Ivan continues to thrust until he pulls out just before he cums. Alfred reaches out, slowly stroking Ivan’s cock.

Ivan collapses on top of Alfred, feeling just as tired as Alfred is. Just as exhausted, heart pounding in his chest.

Alfred kisses Ivan. They never kiss after sex, not really. It’s not in their nature but it feels right to do so. He’s surprised when Ivan starts to kiss him back, at first softly, and then more hard, with little bites.

Alfred wants to tell Ivan he loves him, but is unable to form the words. They always get choked up in his throat. They never quite come out.

“I love you.” It’s Ivan who says it first, and Alfred thinks his heart stops.

“I uh.” He clears his throat, trying to get his brain functioning again. “I love you too.” _I think_.

Ivan falls asleep, and Alfred remains awake, exhausted but restless. He wonders if Ivan meant it, because if he did, then maybe he’ll have something to live for, for awhile.


End file.
